


In This Together

by starsmahogany



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Mockingjay, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsmahogany/pseuds/starsmahogany
Summary: Katniss and Peeta both have their lingering horrors after the Rebellion, Katniss with nightmares and Peeta with episodes. Sometimes, the horrors are a little too much to bare, and it happens to be one of those instances for Peeta.Post-Mockingjay, Katniss' POV. Originally posted to Tumblr in 2015.





	In This Together

The sound of his screams is the first thing that registers with me. Pained, terrible cries, bouncing off the walls of the house, reverberating through my skull, shocking me to the core.

It’s such an eerie noise, chilling every bone in my body, that I have to wonder if I’m experiencing a nightmare myself.

But no, it’s real. Unfortunately, it’s real.

And without warring with myself further, I rush towards the source, tearing down the hallway and towards the bathroom.

It hurts me so, knowing that he’s in such agony even here, a place where any and all threats are practically non-existent. But still he suffers. Still he relapses and falls victim to old terrors.

The love and peace I offer him just isn’t enough some days.

Part of me understands. Even though I’m slowly healing, even though I’m beginning to crawl back up from depths unimaginable, I’m still plagued by the horrors both the Games and the Rebellion inflicted upon me. I have my good days, and I have my bad days.

Sometimes I’ll be able to sleep soundly through the night, cuddled tightly and contently in Peeta’s arms, while other times I’ll wake up screaming and tear soaked every time I fall to slumber. Sometimes I’ll be able to rise from bed, offering smiles and greeting the day with enthusiasm, while other times the bed is my prison, locking me within the grey void of mine.

And Peeta is the same way.

But what I’ll never be able to fathom fully, what I’ll never be able to grasp, is the true inner sanctum of his mind, the true suffering that bleeds through it on occasion. And what the Capitol did that scarred him as a result.

I can barely picture the workings of his torture without bile surfacing into my throat and tears pooling into my eyes. I was never really told what they did to him, not exactly. But I know it involved blood, screams, bruises, broken bones, and broken souls.

Beating him, frightening him, paining him, nearly killing him. The only reason they probably kept him alive was just so he could kill me, inflicting every bit of suffering upon him until he was clinging to life by just a thread.

That’s another thing. His hijacking. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be living in a constant state of confusion, questioning the things that are most precious to you. I cannot imagine how he lived with himself after nearly killing me. I cannot imagine the turmoil he still fights against to this day.

It’s all so much to take in, all so much to think about. It’s all so overwhelming to try and understand. But I’m aware that he’s broken, and that very fact is mutual. The very least we can do is try and glue back the pieces.

So I pick up my pace to find Peeta, placing myself in the proper mindset. Don’t question. He’s hurting. Regardless of the reason this particular episode, he’s hurting. And I have to be there for him. It’s what he and I do for each other.

Because while I don’t fully grasp his anguish, and he doesn’t mine, we’re all each other has. We both went through hell and back together. Though we both experienced the Games and the Rebellion in different ways, we faced it together. And so we’ll fight against the scars together as well, without question.

Peeta’s cries have died down by the time I reach the bathroom, replaced by whimpers that are nearly engulfed by the sound of rushing water. I hesitate outside of the door, readying myself for what may lie ahead. I’m not sure if I’m dealing with a full fledged hijacking episode or not, and not wanting to frighten him further, I cautiously call out his name.

“Peeta?”

The only answer is the sound of the shower continuing to spray water against the tile floor.

My heart somersaults within my chest. He could have knocked himself out. He could be completely gone to the world, trapped in his mind. He could have…

I swallow hard, tears gathering in my eyes, despite wanting to remain strong for him.

“…Peeta?”

Again, silence. It must be bad.

I worry my lip between my teeth, and open the door slowly, cautiously peeking my head around it.

What I see stops my swirling heart, and sends it plummeting down into my stomach below.

The shower is still on, raining down drops of water. But where I was expecting a strong form to be is empty, the space simply filled with steam and moisture. Instead, I find his body to be crumpled to the ground.

My hand works its way upwards to clasp over my mouth as I drink more of the sight in, noticing more and more troubling things.

Peeta’s body, though thankfully not entirely motionless, is trembling and quivering as he lays on the shower floor, his back to me. Crimson streams of blood stain areas of the wall where the water doesn’t reach on its own, and leak from Peeta in various places as well. I trace the largest trail from Peeta, following it with my eyes. And I can’t stop the tears from billowing down my cheeks when I reach the trail’s end.

A fresh, gaping hole in the shower wall, likely punched with Peeta’s fist.

Trying to picture what pained him so much, what compelled him to lose any and all composure, gets me crying openly, little weeps sounding from my lips. But regardless, I stick to my mental promise.

Something however, stops me in my tracks as I make a rush for the shower, my entire form freezing as raspy, choked tone barely sounds above the water.

“Go. You don’t need to see this. Leave me.”

A slight hint of relief trickles in at the sound of his voice. He’s conscious enough to speak to me, conscious enough to recognize who I am. But it still hurts my heart all the more.

I’m transported back a few months, imagines still vivid in the confines of my mind flashing before my eyes. I think of how Peeta was so set on staying behind in the sewers, so ready to die. I think of how he cared about my well being and mental more than his own. I think of how I forbade him to do so.

That much hasn’t changed.

Not even bothering with my clothes and completely ignoring his plea, I step into the shower with him, kneeling behind him and quickly saturating under the continuous stream of water.

“Peeta…”

His name comes out in a whispered moan, my hand shakily reaching to caress his back. I touch him carefully, and when he doesn’t stiffen or react negatively, I continue to stroke him. Softly, tenderly, like I would with a wounded animal.

I massage him for a while, and when I’m confident that he’s accepting of my touch, I slip my hands around his shoulders, slowly rolling him to face me.

And my composure breaks at the broken man before me.

Claw marks lace across his face, forming an intricate pattern of reds and pinks. Blood seeps from a few deeper wounds, dotting his skin in places. His eyes are bloodshot and completely filled to the brim with tears, but the dazzling blue color is there all the same.

The second our gazes connect, we cannot help but cry for each other.

I grope my hands back against his shoulders, and tug him upwards without a thought more, encircling my arms tightly around him the second he’s upright. I embrace him tenderly, firmly, nestling my face against his head and weeping into the matted, damp array of blonde hair.

He leans his head against my chest, sniveling and sobbing and sounding absolutely pathetic, equaling a tight clench of my heart.

“K..Ka…Katniss…”

“Shhh,” I interrupt his broken sobs, struggling not to sob myself, “I’m here, Peeta. I’m right here.

“It…It happened so fast…I don’t know w-what…”

“Shhhh,” I say again, using all my mental strength to manage a soothing tone, “You’re alright. It’s okay. This is real. What you just saw wasn’t real. But this is. I’m here for you, Peeta. I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

Again, he whimpers, and I find myself placing gentle kisses against his forehead, wanting nothing more but to calm him down. I snake a hand up to grasp the base of his head, scratching my fingers softly against his scalp. And I slowly begin to rock our bodies back and forth, adding to the soothing mood.

Thankfully, I think it begins to work. The production of his tears lessens, his sobs shifting to the occasional sniff and quiver. His body slowly stops shaking, deflating against me. And his arms finally release the tight vice he had around his knee and prosthetic, traveling to return my embrace instead. We hug each other tightly, passing warmth and affection between our bodies. And after a long pause, Peeta finally speaks up again.

“Katniss…I’m…I’m so tired…”

“I know. I know.”

“Why…why does this keep…happening?”

My throat tightens at his heartbroken tone, and I shake my head slightly against his. Though I know his episodes still occur from fragments of venom left over from his torture, most of them have a trigger. And this one, in all its severity, has no visible source.

“I…I don’t…”

“I have you,” he whispers against me, “The one person I care about. My entire life in my hands, safe. All my nightmares, all my terrors, stem from losing you. But you’re here. And you…help me so much.”

He heaves a little sob, before hugging me tighter, pressing his face against me.

“So why don’t they stop…Why am I so messed up, Katniss…”

A few more tears push themselves down my cheeks. I hate to see him like this. I hate to see him hating himself. So I press on, fighting to lead him back towards the light like he always does for me.

“It’s the venom. It’s the Capitol. It isn’t you. This is what they wanted. They wanted us to break completely, to shatter and break away from ourselves. We can’t give them that pleasure. All the shiny memories, all the flashbacks, all the aggression isn’t you. That’s what they wanted you to think. You’re still Peeta. My sweet Peeta.”

He whimpers at my words, nestling closer. I press a soft kiss to his temple in response. And it’s no surprise that he continues to argue.

“Venom that I can’t fight sometimes. Venom that completely overtakes me. Katniss, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you again…”

“You won’t.”

“Katniss…”

I refuse to hear him argue any longer. My hands go to cup his jaw, and I gently lift his head upwards to lock his lips within my own. And as per usual, to my relief and delight, he absolutely melts at the contact.

His entire body relaxes as the kiss continues, our mouths sliding gracefully through each other’s. I can taste a hint of blood on his tongue; he must have bit it, but I ignore it, relishing his warmth instead. I cherish the moment, knowing it’s a step back in a positive direction.

“You won’t,” I murmur the moment my lips release his, “I’ve seen you overcome the venom before. I know you can. You’re stronger than anything the Capitol tried to dish out.”

He looks at me with sad eyes, and I press another peck to his lips before continuing.

“Our war against them unfortunately isn’t over. But I’ll continue to fight against your side if you will. I’ll always protect you because I know you’ll do the same for me,” I murmur, searching his brilliant azure gaze, “Okay? Together?”

His lips finally turn upwards for the first time since I discovered him in a here, a small ghost of a smile gracing his handsome face.

“Together,” he affirms, reaching up to cup my cheek with a hand, “I love you so much…Thank you…”

My cheeks flush with color, my expression mirroring his as I utter back the phrase that is still new for me.

“You’re welcome. And I love you too.”

We continue to stare at each other, exchanging warm smiles and getting lost in the intricate, interlocking maze of grey and blue. But slowly, gradually, I become aware of our surroundings again. The hole, the blood, the things needing to be tended to, Peeta being the utmost priority.

Seeing that he’s so close to stepping back into the sunlight, so close to recovering from the horrors he was facing, I press on.

“You know what this means then?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not showering without company from now on.”

And just like that, his wonderful, beautiful smile alights, practically illuminating the bathroom as he laughs despite his tears.

“You know, that’s a demand I think I can live with.”

I grin at him, blushing softly, and give him another tender kiss before shuffling away with the intent of grasping both his hands in mine.

“Good. Now can you stand up? I want to see to your hand and get you some rest.”

He nods, continuing to smile softly, and threads his fingers tightly through mine. Together, we help each other stand in the slickness of the shower. And when we’re both fully stable, it’s no surprise that he pulls me close for yet another kiss.

I accept it gratefully, contorting my body to his in the perfect fit. I hike my hands behind his head, lacing my fingers through the darkened strands and tugging him even closer.

The taste of blood washes away, and is replaced with his signature sweetness and warmth, something I suppose is metaphorical for the entire situation. He pulled away from the darkness when he didn’t think he could. I helped him come back when all appeared lost. It’s another small battle we’ve won yet again. And I know our streak won’t stop any time soon.

Sure, we’ll still have to face tribulation after tribulation. Yes, we’ll have to deal with terror after terror, fright after fright. But we have each other. I know we will conquer every battle hand in hand.

That much the Capitol will never be able to change.


End file.
